A Treatise on Dragons
by Alania Black
Summary: In the new world formed by the end of the war, Draco struggles to find himself and ends up in Romania. There he meets a Dragon Keeper, who takes on the most difficult dragon of them all. Slash, Charlie/Draco.


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**The Hungarian Horntail**

"_The Hungarian Horntail is an isolated species, and will react viciously to other Dragons in or near its territory". – L.I. Sard _A Treatise On Dragons.

Draco stepped away from the international portkey with the grace and elegance that spoke of magical birthright and long experience of magical transportation. He looked up at the building he'd stopped in front of with an uncharacteristic apprehension, eyes taking in the wooden building that was typical of Romania. It was fairly small for what he had expected (he would have called it a _shack_, before) but it still stood against the skyline and the pointed tower was frankly intimidating. It was his new home now, he supposed, and he straightened his back and donned his habitual, cold mask before any of his co-workers caught the emotion turning his stomach.

He was unused to strong emotions, especially to nerves or this feeling of being wildly out of place – the last time he'd felt anything of the sort had been the sudden uncertainty of where he was and _who _he was in the world left by Potter's success two years ago. Despite the way the country settled quickly into something very much like it was before, there had still been something a little off, almost out of place, about England. So when he'd discovered that the Society of Dragon Keepers in Romania had an opening for a new Tamer's Apprentice, he had practically leapt at the chance to work with the creatures he'd coveted and adored all his life. So, here he was. Up until now he'd been fuelled by excitement, itching to get here, somewhere he felt he already _belonged_, simply for his love of Dragons if nothing else.

Then he'd been met at the station by a man with a scar across his face that Draco knew he'd received from Dolohov. A man who had looked him up and down, said 'Malfoy?' in a tone that was not quite a sneer, and turned to walk away with a curt 'this way' and nothing more. Apparently even here being a Malfoy was a crime.

"Malfoy!" A sharp voice cut across the silence around them. He jerked and hurried after his companion, who seemed to speed up as he walked into the building and up the stairs to a hallway that went on for three times the length of the outside of the building, and was lined with doors and hallways. Two turns later, he was gestured into what turned out to be a fairly tiny bedroom with a small single bed and a chest. He pursed his lips as he put his shrunken luggage on the bed, and turned to the man who had led him here.

Who turned away, said – once more over his shoulder – "dinner in twenty in the lounge," and vanished around the corner. By the time Draco got there, he was gone.

"Fantastic. Just what I need." He sighed, and went back to his room. He figured he was probably lucky he'd left the door open, because the corridor he was on had at least ten identical doors leading off it. He didn't think there were enough people here to need this many rooms.

An hour later, he finally found the lounge after opening probably a dozen doors leading back to the corridor, seven doors to the outside, nineteen doors to identical tiny bedrooms that no one slept in, and trying at least another twenty locked doors. Oh, yes, and going down the stairs. He had seen architecture like this before, especially during the war – by creating a building filled with illusions and doors that lead nowhere, people within were protected from invaders, who were likely not going to find them quickly. It gave them a warning, at least, that there were intruders, and gave them a chance to get away. Of course, people who lived there had a key that meant they didn't see the illusion – which means that scar-face had deliberately abandoned Draco without the key, effectively telling him he was an intruder.

He walked in to a room filled by a huge wooden table, matching chairs and the loud, raucous laughter of about twenty tanned, scarred men enjoying the last of their dinner. The door swung behind him unfortunately loudly, catching their attention. An uneasy silence settled on the room, laughter fading and smiles falling. He felt an uncharacteristic blush starting in his cheeks as the men all turned to look at him, judge him. A derisive snort followed.

"You still here? Figured you would have hit the road after the first couple of doors outside."

"Most of them led to bedrooms, actually – I wonder if that's a reflection on the minds that live here?" He retorted sharply, finally forcing himself to move and remind himself that he'd survived _Slytherin_ and _Potter_ for seven years, he could handle himself in a room full of people who thought they were better than him.

"Circe's tits, Gus, tell me you weren't actually that childish." A deep, confident but weary voice sighed in a tone that said he'd done this before.

"It's a _Malfoy_." Scar-face – Gus – protested. Draco sneered at him.

"Oh, I'm so impressed already; I would have though a man with a scar across his face would have learned to see past first impressions. Or does that only count for other people?"

No, that only counts when outside appearances are hard won scars from _war_, you pretentious little shit, not -."

"Gus! Stop it before you say something you're going to regret." The other man said. Draco was rapidly coming to think of him as 'rescuer', which was a pretty stupid idea.

Rescuer turned to Draco and walked over, holding out his hand for a handshake. Draco's eyes caught the edge of a shiny burn scar, but were too busy cataloguing red hair and freckles even under a dark tan.

"Sorry about him, welcome. Ron told me you were coming, said something about getting out of England?"

"Away from Potter's ego, maybe." Draco replied with a snort, as things clicked into place. "Weasley." His mind raced, trying to place him.

Weasley's smile faded, and his hand started to drop, which made Draco realise he was being uncommonly rude to the one man who didn't seem to immediately dislike him. He reached out and belatedly took the hand, suppressing flash memories of another hand, another Weasley.

"It's Charlie, right? Sorry, I thought you might be Percy, Molly told me he was off talking to someone – but I think cousin Dora said he was with Remus and the werewolves. Actually I think she said..."

"Something along the lines of 'off trying to get eaten by a werewolf', if I know Tonks any." Charlie interrupted with a warm handshake and a broad smile. Draco blinked at the intensity of the smile, and nodded.

He frowned and pulled back a little when Charlie turned away, gesturing to his co-workers. He was being too over-familiar with this man, reacting to the first friendly face and that was not just stupid, it was also not Slytherin.

"Right, you lot, someone get – hey, what's your name?" Draco blinked and looked up at him, the question taking a minute to penetrate.

"Draco." He blurted, then immediately regretted it. Calling him by his first name was a familiarity he wasn't planning on giving any of these people!

"Ok, Draco, someone get Draco something to eat." Charlie ordered, and motioned Draco to one of the seats. "Gus, since it's your fault Draco here is late, you can wait until he's done and wash up." Charlie said so off-handed that it almost didn't sound like an order. He saw Gus, who was still frowning, open his mouth to argue, before shutting it again with a distinctly sulky look.

"Wallis, can you get the key for Draco?" Charlie asked a tall, lanky blond, who grinned with an abandoned air and left with a 'sure thing, Boss'.

Well, if he was going to be getting too familiar with someone, at least it was the man in charge.

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